


My Master's Feet

by justhuman



Category: Angel: the Series
Genre: M/M, Slashficathon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-07-12
Updated: 2003-07-12
Packaged: 2017-10-29 05:51:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/316495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justhuman/pseuds/justhuman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written as speculation into Angel s5 about the relationship Spike and Andrew form when they join Wolfram & Hart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Master's Feet

"Quit bitching, Dawn. It's not like you're out on patrol with Mr. You're-Holding-Your-Katana-All-Wrong." Kennedy's internship with Angel hasn't been running smoothly.

Dawn wasn't ready to give in on her point. "Oh really? Maybe you'd like to try translating dead languages for Wesley. I'm sure you'd get a thrill every time he told you that it's supposed to be future perfect tense and not the present participle. What about you, Andrew?"

Me? I don't exactly have anything to bitch about. Wolfram, Hart & Angel is treating me well actually, and this makes me smile. "Actually, life for me is really cool!"

And apparently that's not the answer they want. All of a sudden, Kennedy is squeeing to Dawn about some lipstick lesbian bar that they're going to take Willow to. Bored, I turn the last page in the latest issue of the Uncanny X-men.

Transitioning to life in the big city was rough at first. We had only been here two months when Xander suggested, loudly, that carpenter's assistant wasn't my calling. My internships with WH&A had been kinda shaky until the day I was asked to help with a big spell. Lilah had decided to 'retrieve some jewelry she lost,' and Spike fell into our lives--literally.

As soon as the naked-souled vamp landed in the middle of the circle of pig's blood, Angel accused Spike of stealing his Shan-something. Offended by the false accusation made against the hero of Sunnydale, I jumped to his defense and got in the way of a punch aimed for Spike's nose.

So now, I'm Spike's personal assistant, man-at-arms, squire, minion and lackey. It took a little getting used to, but I've found I'm really good at all that Jeeves stuff, not to mention all the paperwork that Spike won't do for Lilah. It really is a match made in heav--well, formally evil law firm.

Leaving Dawn and Kennedy to their discussions about corsets, I slide my comic back into its mylar cover, and head for the vamp-pad-- a combo office/apartment on the thirteenth floor. Spike and I have an amicable working relationship, which benefits both of us. Like Obi-wan, I patiently learn at the feet of my Jedi master and do his laundry.

As soon as I enter the apartment, it's apparent that 'at my master's feet' is an apt phrase for today. Spike is lounging in a leather armchair watching Geraldo, with his Docs on the shoeshine box. He's also completely naked. Well, except for the boots. Smile on my face, I bend to my task.

"Blood was lovely, Andrew. You were right, that chipote sauce was soddin' tasty."

"Cool! I still can't believe that you spent all this time in California and didn't develop a taste for south-western cuisine."

"Give a bloke a break. Did develop a taste for south-westerners, when biting was my style." There's something of a devilish gleam in his eye as he watches me. "If I'm not mistaken, it's four months today."

I'm beaming a bit; can't help it. It's incredibly rare for Spike to keep track of things that involve dates. "You remembered!"

"Managed, without your help, to mark it on the desk calendar." His eyebrows are up, so I know I'm being teased about the anal way I make sure the schedule is updated daily.

"Masterful!" I tease right back.

"So..."

"Everything has looked healed for the last two weeks or so." Sitting up, I puff out my chest in the really tight t-shirt I put on today. I suppose I should confess to the fact that I pay attention to the notations Spike makes on the desk calendar, amidst the bad doodles of Angel. I kinda expected pouncing or pins-you-to-a-wall vampire today--naked also works.

His fingers trace the rings that run through my nipples, outlined under the cotton. It makes me twitch, and I can feel the excitement building when he reaches out and shreds the t-shirt. It's beyond cool to be on my knees while Spike relaxes back, playing with my rings like the buttons on a Playstation. Moaning and a bit out of breath from the pinching and the tugging, part of me wants to squirm away, while another part has become fascinated with watching Spike's cock bob in front of my face. Opening my mouth wide, I reach out with my tongue to continue the spit-shine work, this time on the swollen head.

"No you don't." He's trying to kiss away my frown... or rape my mouth with his tongue. With vampire-aided speed, my back is on the desk, his teeth torturing my right nipple while his fingers merciless work on the left, flicking the rings and making me want to buck off the desk. Despite the stimulation, I know my job--hands above my head, open the top drawer on the left and pull out the pump of water-based lube for sensitive skin.

The cheap sweats I carefully selected this morning are torn asunder like tissue paper, but I'm too caught up in trying to breathe and stay still to fully enjoy it. I'm gripping the edge of the desk as Spike's now slick fingers tease me for what's to come. My ankles are on his shoulders, exposing and opening me for his pleasure, but the undead bastard is hanging back, stroking his cock up and down like he's got nothing better to do. "'M very fond of those new bits of metal, Andrew. Secretary's day is coming; what'd you think of a guiche?" His cock is now probing for entrance, but giving me no satisfaction.

"Gucci? Like a belt or a wallet?" He pulls back, annoyed, because I'm screwing up the game with my questions. "Do I *have* to wait for Secretary's Day? Please, Spike, please. Give it to me now! Give it-" He slams in, nailing my most sensitive spot and my ass flies off the desk, his preternaturally strong hands grab my hips as he fucks me like a vampiric jackhammer. There'll be bruises; always are, because I bruise easily.

I don't see the hand come down, fast and sharp. It slaps my nipples hard and without stopping. Bucking hard, tears falling from my eyes, I squeeze my well-toned glutes, watching his eyes go gold and his wicked tongue flick over his fangs. I stop breathing, and he slaps my throbbing cock, initiating an explosion that makes me go momentarily blind. I can barely register the harsh thrusts as he pumps his orgasm into me.

Spike knows my skin's too sensitive to touch now, but he's still part-evil and ignores my squirms as he pets my balls. It's all part of the price I pay for working for a demon. Lifting my sac, he makes me groan as his fingers bite into the super-sensitive spot between the jewels and his cock, still buried deep in my ass.

"Oh yeah, guiche. Nice big fat gold ring right here for Secretary's Day."

I smile. "Stainless steel, the gold will bend too easily. You're the best boss ever!"

~end~

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Gwynnega in the Slashficathon: Spike/Andrew, fucking, Andrew must say, "Masterful!"
> 
> Thanks to the very patient Magpie, who taught me the valuable lesson of putting verbs in my sentences. Verbs! Can you believe that? This modern world ;-)


End file.
